Dismissed
by Xandra Fox
Summary: With four survivors and only three seat belts in the cab of Uncle Jess's truck, Daryl Dixon is faced with a life altering decision—and the reality that he'll have to screw people over in order to survive. Hit the road with the Dixon brothers as they grapple with not only flesh-eating freaks, but horrendous game mechanics as well. Based on the "Survival Instinct" game, pre-Atlanta.


**A/N****: **Cover Art: julie9r on tumblr. Link on profile.

Woo! First Walking Dead fanfic. So, my mother bought me and my sister "Walking Dead: Survival Instinct" as a surprise/joke after we finished binge watching all 5 seasons of the show. Supposedly the game is considered canon to the show, but from what I heard Robert Kirkman didn't even want to be associated with the thing, so...what does that tell you.

For anyone who's not familiar with the game, here's a quick recap to help put things in context. It starts with Daryl's dad venturing outside with his shotgun to investigate some stuff and thangs, and then getting mobbed by *gasp* a pack of zombies. He's rescued by Daryl and Jess Collins, Daryl's half-uncle, but by then it's too late for Daddy Dixon and Uncle Jess has to put him out of his misery. After gathering up some fuel and stale powerade, Daryl and his uncle escape in their pickup truck and head south, making a pit stop in some random town to refuel. And that's as far as I got. Which brings me to this fic.

**.-.-.-.-.-.-.**

**DISMISSED**

A Walking Dead Parody Fiction

**-.-.-.-.-.-.-**

_**Sedalia**_

_**Lucky Les's Gas Station - 3:10 PM**_

The stench of gasoline and rotting flesh permeated the air as Daryl Dixon ran for his life, trying to put as much distance between him and the trailer park as possible. Something wet trickled down his forehead and into his eyes, blurring his line of sight. No, those weren't raindrops. That was his sweat.

It happened every time he sprinted for more than three seconds. Sweat poured down his face like a waterfall, impairing his vision. He might as well have been running through a downpour, but he couldn't stop to catch his breath.

The instant he'd pried that key ring from Lucky Les's dead hand (and jammed his hunting knife through the man's skull), a whole slew of them burst out of the surrounding trailers. All at once. If the monsters weren't dumb-as-shit, he would have thought it was _planned. _Now those biters were hot on his trail, raring to sink their teeth into him.

Boy was he pissed. He drew upon his rage and put on a burst of speed, the moans of the undead behind him propelling him forward. His vision was a runny mess, but he powered through it and ran blindly. Through the shimmering curtain of sweat, he could just make out the two red gas pumps ahead. His destination.

He didn't let himself slow down until he'd run past them. He headed for the window where Warren Bedford waited, hunkered down in his little boarded-up nook of the gas station. The twenty-five-year-old pharmacist perked up as Daryl jogged up to the window.

"You found the keys!" Warren craned his neck and glanced over Daryl's shoulder with a hopeful smile. "Are my dad and Lucky Les behind you?"

An awkwardly long silence passed between the two men. Daryl looked away.

"…Just tell me how to turn on the generator," he grunted.

Warren's expression fell. "Oh…" he said quietly, seeming to understand. "Um...it's around the right side of the building, behind a fence."

Daryl didn't stick around for a pity party. He dashed length of the convenience store, which was overrun with biters, and rounded the corner of the building to find the chain link fence Warren was talking about. After fumbling with the padlock on the gate, he successfully got into the cage that housed the generator. He crammed the big red key in the slot, mashed a few buttons, and flipped a switch. To his relief and horror, the generator roared to life, making a sound like a lawn mower. No. Five lawn mowers at once. He barely heard Warren's muffled voice over the heavy thrum of the machine,

"All right, the pumps are up and running! Hurry! The noise is drawing them in!"

Daryl slipped out of the metal cage cautiously and peeked around he corner of the station, knife at the ready. He tensed when he saw a biter loitering by the pumps. This one looked like it had wandered straight out of Hickville Central, sporting a pair of overalls and nothing else. Chunks of putrid skin hung off its bones like bits of finely roasted crockpot chicken.

At least it hadn't spotted him yet. Daryl crouched low and crept toward the biter, his deft footsteps drowned out by the generator. It didn't detect him until it was right behind it, but by then he had an angle. Daryl thrust his knife into the back of its head and let the limp body fall to the concrete. Dead. For good.

Daryl picked up the fuel canister he'd left by the pump and began filling it up, squeezing the handle ten times harder than was necessary. The meter increased at an agonizingly steady pace. _10.00%...20.00%...30.00%._

He lifted his head and scanned the area. The biter he'd just slaughtered was only the first of many approaching from the trailer park. Tall, swaying figures loomed in the haze. Behind him, the ones trapped inside the station pounded on the windows and pressed their pale faces against the glass, riled up at the sight of him. He picked up the sound of nails scraping against wood. They were chipping away at door.

Dary's stomach turned. Every instinct in his body was hounding him to run. _Get_ _a_ _head_ _start_. But the gas wasn't going to pump itself. There were only a few miles worth of gas left in the truck's tank. They'd break down before they made it out of town.

He wasn't leaving without the fuel.

_50.00%_

"C'mon...C'MON," he muttered under his breath, as if it would make the can fill up faster. He bit his tongue. "_Shit!_"

At that moment, the door broke open. Half a dozen snarling biters came stumbling out of the station, snapping their teeth. He whipped out his revolver with his free hand and fired into the mob. But with only three bullets in the cylinder, he was out of ammo in no time.

The three biters he hadn't shot in the head hurled themselves forward. Daryl snatched up the bloody lead pipe he'd picked up earlier and started beating the nearest one senseless. It staggered backwards, stunned, then lunged at him again. Another went for the exposed flesh on his arm while he was busy trying to whack the first one for the third time.

"Wait yer turn, would ya!"**  
**

The pipe gave off a metallic ring as it collided with skulls over and over again. Eventually, the remaining biters were done for, their heads thoroughly smashed in.

Daryl let the pipe, smeared with fresh blood and brain matter, thud to the concrete. He was exhausted, the three-on-one brawl having whittled down his stamina greatly. He almost popped a blood vessel when he faced the pump again and saw _51.84% _on the meter. It had gone NOWHERE the second he'd turned to shoot, despite keeping the handle pressed for some time after. He picked up the pump and shoved it back in the gas can, his heart still racing from the encounter and the impending threat. Just when the meter hit 100.00%, there was another hiss behind him. Missed one. Daryl groaned. _Just make it stop._

The straggler was a female, by the looks of it. She limped out of the store went for his throat. Daryl scrambled for a weapon and smacked the monster upside the head with the butt of his rifle. It had no effect. He slung the gun back over his shoulder and went for his knife, but it took too long to switch weapons. Long enough for her to recover and grab hold of him.

She combated him with alarming strength, groping and tearing at any part of him she could reach. Daryl grappled to get a sturdy hold on her neck and elbowed her in the face. He kept her at bay with one arm and hacked away with the other. Not one, two, or three, but _four_ times. Only then did she crumple to the ground in a gory heap and fall still.

Warren emerged from the broken down doorway in a slight daze, having been utterly useless. He lowered the brim of his baseball cap, his wide eyes taking in the fresh pile of dead bodies.

"Ugly skank." Daryl spat beside the she-biter's unmoving corpse and glared at Warren with steely eyes. "Well, come on, we ain't got all day!"

Daryl grabbed the brimming fuel can and the two took off down the road. There was no time to recuperate; the biters that had followed Daryl back from the trailer park were catching up fast. Up ahead, a massive car pileup blocked the road: minivans, buses, tractor trailers, and even a fuel tanker skewed at an angle, never to make it to the gas station. Uncle Jess's pickup truck was on the other side, parked a couple blocks down.

Daryl led the charge towards the super market across the street, the only way around the impassable wall of vehicles. His heart skipped a beat when shuffling feet appeared beneath the school bus by the sidewalk. And then whole another pack of biters came lumbering around it at top speed, spawned out of freaking nowhere.

Daryl didn't need to think. He veered the opposite way, hoping Warren had the sense to follow. The combined horde of biters forced them closer and closer to the car wall, into a corner. Daryl still didn't know what he was going to do when they reached it. He became very aware of his heart pounding in his rib cage.

Suddenly, gunshots reverberated through the square, three in a row. Daryl turned his attention skyward, toward the source of the sound, and caught sight of a sheriff's hat. It was Officer Jimmy Blake, whom Daryl had run into while scavenging indoors earlier. The cop was spotting them from the roof of the supermarket, raining bullets down on the pursuing biters.

Officer Blake fired off more rounds from his perch above the square, downing more of the biters on their tails. Their torsos collapsed to the pavement as their heads exploded in miniature fireworks of black blood. For once, Daryl was glad he'd had to detour through those dark, dank buildings full of maggot-infested corpses.

"Look!" Warren panted. He motioned ahead, pointing to a space between two tractor trailers. "We can squeeze through—

"Nah, we can't." Daryl wiped some sweat from his brow. "There's some sorta wall blockin' the way—you can't see it—"

"Then let's roll undernea—"

"No! Tried it; there's a wall under there too. We're gonna have to go back through the—" But then his eyes found something he hadn't noticed before – a ladder going up the back of the gas truck, only accessible from this side of the pileup. "Up there! Go!"

Daryl pushed Warren towards the ladder. As Daryl handed up the gas can, a biter reached for him, a raspy growl tearing from its throat. Adrenaline pumping through his veins, Daryl whipped around with a determined cry and shoved the monster on its ass. More biters stepped over the fallen one and clawed at his legs as he bolted up the ladder after Warren. He got on top of the tank just in time to see a _second_ horde of biters pouring out of the pharmacy on the other side.

Droves of biters pressed up against either side of the truck, rocking the tank back and forth. Daryl and Warren retreated to the center of the tank, spreading their feet to maintain balance. Countless sunken yellow eyes were locked on them. Daryl gritted his teeth and skimmed the rooftops for Blake, but the cop had gone. At the rate the biters were piling up, they'd overturn the truck—and its volatile contents—in minutes.

"We're gonna have to jump down and make a break for it!" he yelled to Warren over the snarls, nodding at Jess's white pickup truck a ways down the road. He reached for his knife. "Ready—

"Wait!" Warren pointed out at the street breathlessly. Upon following the man's terrified gaze, Daryl spotted a single biter lurking between the tanker and Uncle Jess's truck. Right in their path.

"There's a biter..."

"Damn." Daryl put his knife away and aimed his rifle. He peered through the scope and scrunched one eye shut, cringing at the racket he knew it would make. He sure wished he had his crossbow about now, but who knew where the hell that went. And Merle. His big bro was a pro at maneuvering out of shitstorms.

_CRACK! _

The second the biter was down, Daryl and Warren leaped down from the tanker and made a mad rush for the truck, miraculously landing on their feet in the process. In the same moment, Officer Blake came barreling out of an adjacent alleyway and converged with them, rifle in tow. He turned and fired off a few more shots for good measure, covering Daryl and Warren's backs as they escaped towards the truck. But with each crack of the gun, more biters materialized out of nothing, replacing and outnumbering the fallen ones. Beads of sweat collected on Daryl's forehead again, threatening to blind him.

"Hurry it up!" Uncle Jess hollered from the driver's seat of the truck. He honked the horn impatiently, attracting the attention of biters everywhere. Any biters who hadn't already been drawn over by the gunfire now knew exactly where they were. "DARYL! Get back over here!'"

"What do ya think I'm DOIN', Jess?!" Daryl snapped back. "Start the damn truck!"

Daryl was the first to reach the glowy green space by the truck. He nearly had a heart attack and ripped the car door off its hinges when he realized he actually had to open that too. He stepped aside and let officer Blake into the car first, who dove inside and squeezed into the middle seat. Warren went to climb in after, but found his entry blocked by one of Daryl's rippling biceps. Three pairs of eyes stared at the young pharmacist.

"What do ya think you're doin'?" asked Daryl, cocking an eyebrow.

Warren looked from Daryl, to the cab, back to Daryl. "Uh?" he said simply, momentarily confounded.

"Ever heard of traffic safety laws?" Daryl said. "No more 'n three allowed in the cab at a time."

"He's right," Officer Blake confirmed. "And there is no way a man is sitting in my lap."

"But—the biters!" Warren did a double take over his shoulder, growing frantic. The undead moaned and groaned behind them. "This is life or death! Surely we can make an exception!"

"With a cop sittin' right here in the front seat?" said a skeptical Uncle Jess. "Don't think so."

"That's illegal," chipped in Officer Blake. "What you are doing is illegal."

Warren had to unhinge his gaping jaw to speak again. "T-then—I'll ride in the trunk! I won't be a bother, I promise. I bet I could even pick off some biters from there—"

"_No_. That's dangerous," objected Uncle Jess. "There been biter gook in your ears this whole time, boy? Drivin' without a seatbelt's ILLEGAL."

"And we could get arrested," Officer Blake added.

Warren just gawked, at a loss.**  
**

"Hey, it's nothin' personal, kid," Daryl said. "It's just Jimmy's a cop an' all, and Uncle Jess is uh, tough. So—" He stole one more look at the rapidly approaching horde and said hurriedly, "Sorry man. You're dismissed."

And with that, Daryl hopped in the truck and slammed the cab door in Warren's face faster than a man could say, _claimed!_ Uncle Jess revved the engine and the truck sped off into the countryside, leaving the young man choking on a cloud of dust and grits.

"Wait! No! Please, no! You can't leave me here like this! You can't do this! _You_ _can_'_t!_" he pleaded, his voice breaking off. He bounded after the pickup truck, still stricken with disbelief. As if his mind hadn't yet caught up with his body.

"HEY! Get back here! _Get back here you JACKASSES! _"

Warren screamed and cursed until his throat was raw, but still, the truck did not double back for him. He slowed to catch his breath and threw his hat in the dirt in frustration. Now his only hope now was outrunning horde, but now they weren't even a block behind. Sure, he was faster than them. A little. But he ran out of breath. They didn't.

Warren coughed and hacked as he picked up the pace again, tears staining his eyes. It was bad enough his lungs were clogged with debris and dirt; now they felt like they were on fire, like he'd burn up at any moment from the exertion. Sweat dripped into his lashes and smeared his vision until the grassy farmland beyond the town was nothing but a bleary watercolor of confusion.

Suddenly, Warren ran smack into an invisible wall and tumbled backwards onto the asphalt, the wind knocked out of him. His entire body throbbed with pain as he lay in the road, stunned. Like a parakeet who'd flown into a glass window.

The world above seemed to spin. He couldn't feel his nose at all; he was pretty sure he'd broken it. As the seconds slipped away, blood mingled with the sweat until all Warren saw was red, and all he heard were the hungry groans and ragged breathing of the undead as they descended upon him, arms outstretched, jaws clacking together.

No one in the truck spared a backwards glance as the horde overtook him.

* * *

**~BONUS~**

* * *

"OH yeah! Was I a badass back there or what?" Jimmy Blake whooped, rooting through Daryl's pack. "So what's for dinner tonight, boys? I'm starvin'. Been stranded on top of that grocery store with no food for days."

Daryl took an unsteady breath and sighed, gazing at his dim reflection in the car window. "Probably Warren."

A knowing silence enveloped the cab.

"Who the hell's Warren?" Officer Blake asked, tearing open a meal bag and stuffing his face with tainted meat. Daryl and Uncle Jess both glanced at him, but said nothing. Daryl shifted his body in the crowded cab to avoid the flecks of green spittle that flew at him as Officer Blake sloshed powerade down his chin.

Uncle Jess cast a concerned glance in his nephew's direction. He reached behind Blake's head and patted Daryl on the shoulder.

"Hey. We did what we had to do. Had he rode with us, he'd a been dead on the side of the road with a facefull 'a windshield when we had to nail the breaks and swerve around that street walker."**  
**

Daryl remained quiet. Jess grunted in discomfort when he pulled his arm back and accidentally bumped the bite wound on his inner elbow. Wincing, he returned both hands to the wheel.

"He's young and spry, like you are," Jess said, keeping his eyes on the road. "He made it out alive. Hell, I'd betcha a deer's leg he's a mile outta town by now."

Daryl scoffed at Jess's optimistic proposition, scowling out the window. "You're high," he grumbled. But he secretly hoped his uncle was right.

**.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.**

**A/N****: **Too bad he wasn't. Yep. This game forces you to "dismiss" one of your party members because there aren't enough seats in your vehicle. We all know what that means...RIP Warren Bedford. Your blood will always be on my hands.

So yeah, in a nutshell: sweat constantly dripping down the screen, invisible walls everywhere, grappling endlessly with zombies and having to stab them upwards of three times before they finally go down. But hey, at least you get to play as Daryl! That's cool, right? ;D This was intended to be a one-shot, but I'm barely into the game so there's a chance I could be motivated to add on to this if I have another horrible experience. We'll see.


End file.
